Hypothetically
by PersnicKty2018
Summary: "Hypothetically, the third time's the charm, but sometimes we only get one chance." A story about the lives of a lonely boy and a narrow-minded girl and the happenstance that made all the difference. AU.
1. Introduction feat, Routine

_If I were to be completely honest, I would admit that I cared. I cared when I saw him alone out on the front steps of the school every morning, I cared whenever he got brutally shoved into the lockers as a practical joke, I cared when I saw his oddly-colored green eyes flicker with the desperation of a lonely being longing for someone- anyone- to notice him. However, you've come to learn that while I am not a liar, I am not a person filled with candor and honesty. So, therefore, if anyone were to ask; no, I did not care about Hiccup Haddock._

* * *

It's a simple plan, really. It's easy enough to follow, and she's never had a hard time with it before. Astrid is the kind of girl nobody messes with simply because they all either respect her or fear her. She doesn't have time for silly distractions like friends, after all, why should she care about anyone else besides herself? She has plans, she wants to leave this town and become somebody out in the real world. From the time she was little, Astrid has always known that she was meant for something more than Berk and her parents have only motivated and encouraged her throughout her childhood. So she had grown up fast, so she's never been to a high school party, so she's never gotten a grade less than an A-. She isn't disliked by anyone, but she isn't exactly liked by anyone, either. (And no, that stalker Snotlout Jorgenson does not count.) That doesn't bother her in the least. At least, that's what she's convinced herself.

Astrid is a lone wolf, a fighter for the things she wants, a Viking born and raised for victory on the battlefield. She doesn't care about how pretty she might or might not be, or if she comes across a little (okay, a lot) rude to certain people who are simply trying to be friendly. She doesn't do 'friendly' or even 'remotely nice.' She's that one person in school whom everyone likes to call their close friend simply because she's who she is, and once they realize that they don't know a thing about her, no one really cares. And it's the truth, that no one really knows her. She's never exactly given anyone a chance to so she supposes that's her fault, but it's not like she'd have it any other way. Friends are a distraction, that's her one and only rule. In and of itself, it isn't really a rule but if Astrid says it's a rule then by the gods it's a rule.

The amount of faces she recognizes in her school is astonishingly low. It startles her sometimes just how many people know who she is and how she can barely match their faces to a name. Every now and then she lays in bed at night, thinking tomorrow she will make an effort to know someone, but then she remembers that tomorrow is just an excuse and she doesn't need excuses (or friends). It's a solitary road headed straight for success she walks on. Albeit, it's a rather _lonely_ road, but she's never known anything else and feels no particular desire to.

There are people like Astrid: those who everyone wants to be, those who are placed on a pedestal so high above everyone else that the only one to challenge her is her own reflection, and then there are people like Hiccup: those who struggle just to hide every raw and painful emotion running through their head every day, those who seem to exist solely so that people can pretend they don't.

Astrid has never cared about anyone besides herself. Be that as it may, she seems to be the very definition of "selfish," and yet, that is not a word that comes to anyone's mind to describe her. Never in her life has she considered herself in the least bit narcissistic, nor has she ever been told so. She has never been taught the phrase, "you deserve to be treated by how you treat others," and therefore does not abide by those kinds of unwritten laws. Her future is the only thing that matters to her, the one thing she's worked so hard for. In her personal opinion, everyone should be just as ambitious and fixated on their future as she is. Kids these days spend too much time slacking off, thinking they have all the time in the world when really, tomorrow is the next day and the future slowly creeps up on you until it's gone. She refuses to wake up one day and realize it's the future, and that she has no clue on where to go from there. She will be prepared to meet it head-on, stare it right in the face and be smug in the fact that _she knows where to go from there_. It's all planned out, and those who lack the slightest bit of intention are not worthy of her time. (Needless to say, most of those she meets are not worthy.)

Hiccup has only ever cared, and perhaps that is his greatest downfall. Astrid knows that his father is the mayor and an important figure, so she doesn't understand why he is harassed brutally and endlessly. Okay, so he's a nerd on a colossal scale and he has a missing leg from an accident in freshman year, but he's got plenty of things going for him that if he only tried he could be quite likeable. In all honesty, he's one of few people who earn the honor of receiving Astrid's regard in the slightest, though he will never know and she will never tell. Most of the time, people who don't try are immediately turned away with distaste in Astrid's mind, but with Hiccup, it's different. He's incredibly smart, for one. How she knows this, she isn't entirely sure, but he's definitely among the top ten in the school and she would not be surprised if she were to learn that no one knew this save herself. Astrid isn't one to form an opinion of someone based on looks, but she has never found Hiccup to be entirely unappealing in physical aspects. His brown hair is a little untamed, unkempt, and a tad bit overgrown, but he has rather alluring (dictionary definition number two, mind you) green eyes and he is no longer the scrawny hobbledehoy the town of Berk would often frown upon. She might go as far as to characterize him as mildly attractive, though that might be taking a step too far in the direction of consideration. He's quick with his tongue as well as his wit, especially around his tormentors- or, at least, he used to be. She remembers a time where he once harnessed a bright and almost sprightly personality, whereas now he hardly speaks a word. Perhaps it isn't the fact that he doesn't try, it's that he does and no one else seems to grasp the concept. They all think he's given up, and he allows them to think that. Maybe that is what bothers her.

In actuality, he should be someone who comes and goes in her line of sight, nothing more and nothing less, however, for some reason, she's kept a secondary eye on him since they've been kids. Astrid cannot begin to fathom why and she would never ever in a million years admit it because there's no logical reasoning or explanation. He's everything that she finds to be an abomination, and yet, he's caught her attention in a way no one else has yet managed to.

However, because Astrid is, well, Astrid, she ceases to do anything more than ponder these odd recognitions in her mind. She doesn't acknowledge his presence any more than the next person, she doesn't say anything when he is shoved through the halls like the spherical star in a pinball machine, she doesn't cast her gaze in his direction when she sees him huddled over some leather-bound book on the steps of the school each and every morning, she doesn't care- period. He can't have it all that bad, after all. His father's the _mayor_ for Odin's sake, it's not like his life is anything but easy. So he doesn't have very many friends, neither does Astrid and she gets along just fine.

(She also has a difficulty in understanding that not everyone- in fact, _no_ one- is on the same page as she, and Astrid is still alone on her preeminent pedestal.)

There is no difference to her day, she wakes up at exactly five forty-five am, stumbles to the bathroom in a half-dead state and then emerges wide awake with her mouth no longer feeling like she had recently eaten a pile of sand. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a braided ponytail with her bangs framing her face and her signature headband adorning her hairline. She returns to her room to pull on a pair of dark jeans and a sweatshirt over a simple blue shirt, tugging on her winter boots as she walks down the stairs. Her car, a rather ugly blue thing about thirteen years old (give or take), emits an alarming gurgle as she turns the key, but it rumbles to life after about five minutes filled with curses, threats, pleas, and frustration, and she speeds off through the streets of her hometown.

Unfortunately, the stars in the sky and the gods of Asgard unite against her, and she nearly gets in a wreck when a stray cat darts out into the road. There's a sickening crunch as she feels her front tire running over something fairly small. There's no time to do anything, and she briefly recalls "hit an animal once- it might be okay, hit it twice and they're roadkill" (blunt and a tad bit morbid, yes, albeit, driver's ed hadn't exactly been all about happiness), but it's too late. Her back tire rolls over the same bump as she comes screeching to a halt in the middle of the street. The cat lays in a still pile of clumped and matted fur. Astrid's mouth twists in sympathy- it's not everyday she's a murderer- but it's just a cat and she's already late. Then she realizes the color of the cat's coat and she nearly shrieks in frustration, slamming her forehead into her steering wheel, because _of course_ she just had to have gone and killed a _black_ cat. She succinctly wonders if her day and/or luck can get any worse before sitting up and pulling herself back together. Sending a stream of apologies to the wee carcass now littering the side of the road, she puts her car in drive and motors away, only hoping that she won't be late.

She's nearing ten minutes behind schedule so Astrid's rushing to school and is consequently not in the mood to be messed with, or even vaguely talked to. She pretends not to notice the boy on the front steps as she tromps in with her storming blue eyes apathetically glued to her walking destination, her average-sized blue backpack swinging from one shoulder and her Nike gym bag hanging from the other. Berk isn't exactly what one would call "tropical" (or even "slightly warm") so her fur-lined boots unpleasantly stick to her socks as she's now ten minutes late in her routine and curses the gods for her lack in being able to afford a better car. Astrid's family isn't poor by any means but they tend to keep things modest and reasonably priced, allowing their talents to speak for themselves as opposed to their accessories, and sticking to a lenient fund. Unfortunately, a brand new car doesn't exactly fit the budget.

A few pleasant greetings flood her ears as she steps into the hall, sweet enough to effectively make her ill. She brushes them all off with a dismissive air, her inward scowl deepening with every step she takes. Astrid can't remember where she had stashed her AP statistics homework and silently rages to herself because she absolutely _hates_ statistics and she has to stay ahead because she worries that she might not care if she doesn't. Which, who is she fooling, she'd bury herself under a mountain of extra credit if she so much as decreased slightly in any class percentage, but statistics is a boring subject. She'd take her world history or language arts any day over the torture that is the collection, organization, analysis, and interpretation of numerical data.

Astrid eats alone, just like every other day. It would be mental suicide to sit in the commons- everyone else is there and gods forbid they try to make conversation with her- so she always finds quiet solace underneath a large tree in the courtyard. It's much too cold for the outside to be a desirable eating location, so Astrid is mostly left alone and undisturbed. It's nice to relax every now and then, but towards the end of lunch she begins to grow restless, her legs aching to walk to class, her fingers twitching to be holding a pencil, and her mind struggling with the concept of "rest." That's always how she's been, it's what makes her such a good student. She constantly needs to be doing something. Buried to her neck in schoolwork is familiar, it's routine. It's like she needs the stress to remain calm, or some backwards philosophy like that. Emotions are reserved for another day, she doesn't have time to think about other things or about how there's plenty of space where she sits- she's too busy reviewing calculus notes and contemplating her annotations for the latest novel.

There are times where Astrid really wishes she had been born with a photographic memory, but, sadly, this is not the case. The day is just any old regular day, nothing special or out of the ordinary, and she's well accommodated with the monotonous inkling that she's forgotten something, so she really can't be blamed when four-thirty rolls around and she bursts into the locker room at full speed and panic, just now remembering that she was supposed to have skipped practice to be home in time for an important event her parents had arranged that evening. She quickly peels off her sweaty under armour, slides on her jeans and t-shirt, and shoves her tennis shoes back on her feet, resolving to retrieve her warm winter boots the following Monday for a quicker trip home.

Other athletes courteously avert their glances as she goes racing out of the locker room like all the creatures of hell have been set on her heels with her backpack and gym bag flying behind her. She throws her things in the passenger seat of the car but is immediately horrified when the Civic stutters for approximately seven seconds before it promptly dies. Astrid curses her luck as she tries two more times, but to no avail. Angrily, she grabs her backpack, deciding to leave her second one behind, and is thankful for her tennis shoes as she bounds off down the sidewalk towards her house. Once she's got a good start, she slows to a brisk walk, her cheeks stinging from the cold and her face surely an embarrassing shade of red. She reaches to the side pocket of her backpack for her phone, but her hand grasps nothing. Astrid freezes, because her mother will absolutely _kill_ her if she's lost her phone. Coming to a complete halt, she frantically digs through her bag in search of the silver metallic device but it's nowhere to be found. Positively brilliant. Now she'll have to bear the full force of her mother's wrath seeing as there's no way to soften the blow with an explanatory text. She can't recall it ever having fallen out but it must have sometime during the day. She doesn't use her phone during school because, duh, it's against the rules, so it couldn't have been then… Astrid would have given herself the false hope of having forgotten it on the charger at home but she knows she always brings her phone and keeps it in the same place and if it's routine then there's no way Astrid would ever stray against it, even if she had been a few minutes late that morning.

Oh well. It's not like Astrid was really looking forward to the event anyways. Her parents' dinner parties are always torturously boring and she generally attempts to scramble up an excuse, but she had promised and she knows how much her parents had been looking forward to this one. Her parents expect the best from her, so Astrid has no reason for a strained relationship with them. She despises disappointing them, though of course her short temper flares whenever they decide to lecture her. She is still a teenager, and a fiery one at that.

Astrid scours the area around her for a brief moment, but the only mildly suspicious thing she finds is a footprint in the mud that clearly isn't hers, though it appears relatively fresh. She takes a few steps along the path that appears as though someone had wandered through once or twice, but stops when she comes across _the_ dead cat, its black fur tangled with blood. Astrid is suddenly struck with guilt because she had only just hit the little critter that morning. The strange thing is, she hadn't been the one to pull its mangled corpse from the road. She disregards the cat after her momentary remorse; she's not much of an animal person, and her phone obviously isn't here, so she turns back to the sidewalk. Sighing in defeat, Astrid returns to her previous pace, cringing at the image of what her mom's face will look like when she arrives at the Hofferson household.

She is grounded for a week, but really, it's not anything she can't live with. Her mother is under the deception that she has any sort of social life so it really doesn't make a difference to her. Luckily, she isn't too upset. It's not like she's going to hold her back from sports since her parents are just as dedicated to her future as she is, her mother had just hoped that she would skip this one day for something important. However, she misses the majority of the event and she doesn't go off on any paroxysms of rage that the Hofferson clan can sometimes be known to do, so, Astrid deems it a win in her book.

(And her phone is sitting on her bedside table, still charging in the way she must have broken from routine that morning. Figures.)

Most people wonder how she keeps straight A's, elite athlete condition, and remain so popular all at one time. Really, Astrid doesn't find herself to be all that popular. She doesn't quite understand what makes her so likeable. The opposite sex is a very boring and fruitless species, in her mind, and she cannot care less how many times she has to bend Snotlout Jorgenson's wrist back for carelessly and shamelessly flirting with her. (Now whether that is his real name or not, she can never quite unveil.) It's miles from her intention to come off as enticing and appealing to other people- in fact, she can be downright threatening to some- although, the majority of the population fails to come to the conclusion that she simply doesn't want to talk. She isn't really one for words, anyway. As a result, Astrid does not fully apprehend the anatomy of another human being her age. Or really, any sort of social gestures or hints in the slightest. So, honestly, how is she to be expected to put pieces together she hadn't even been aware existed in the first place?

There is always going to be uncertainty; faults in the most intricate of systems; things one cannot plan for no matter the circumstances previously set. She likes to think she is prepared for anything and everything that is thrown her way, that she can conquer every challenge passively with no damage to her chain link armor and not a scratch on her polished and deadly weapon, but even the best of the best are shaken every now and then by the unexpected.

Astrid's unexpected comes the next evening in the form of her mother's lips as she announces that Hiccup Haddock is dead.

* * *

 **Most likely, I won't be able to update very often since schoolwork and life are just crazy at this point, but I'm super excited for this plotline and it isn't very long, should be less than ten chapters so hopefully it won't be too long of a wait for the end. Hope you liked the beginning enough to want more, wish me luck in the world of writing!**

 **-PersnicKety2018**


	2. Gone feat, Astonishment

_It's easy to look back on events and admit that you were wrong, but that's just it- you can't actually go back and be brave enough to do all the things you say you would. And is it really bravery? Sometimes I wonder if it is cowardice to say 'if only.' The hard truth is, someone's dead and nothing anyone proclaims they would have done is going to change that. I keep waiting for everyone to realize that there is only the then and the now, and that they just have to suck it up and deal with the hand they are dealt like all the rest of us. And whether the 'then' is the past or the future, I suppose that is all in the eye of the beholder._

* * *

"Hiccup Haddock… dead?" Astrid almost can't believe it. She's understood the meaning of death since the ripe age of seven when her uncle died in the air force, so she knows what it means to see someone one day and know that you're never going to see them again the next. It's just a surprise, is all. And maybe just the slightest bit of an incitement.

"Yes. Apparently the boy committed suicide just last night."

It's surprisingly a lot to take in and Astrid is struck a little dumbfounded for the first time in years. She's never particularly cared about Hiccup, but then again, neither has anyone else. Perhaps she notices- noticed- him a bit more than the average being, but call it a mild fascination, if you will. As far as she's concerned, Hiccup doesn't- didn't- have any friends to genuinely mourn him, and it generates the sporadic feeling of sympathy within her.

"Oh," is all she says and she stuffs another piece of lettuce in her mouth, chewing mechanically. It… bothers her, somehow- the way that they talk about the boy's death like it's any old news, though she doesn't understand why any more than she understands her regard for the boy in the first place. Hiccup Haddock should be just another face, one she won't be seeing anymore. Of course she's sad that he's dead but she shouldn't care as much as she does right now. (Obviously, Astrid is a very state-the-facts kind of girl.) But why? He's always been someone in the background of whatever she tends to do in school. He always sat on the front steps every day; she would catch his messy mop of brown hair as he would stride down the halls, no longer hoping for acknowledgement because any attention generally ended with bruises. She winces when she realizes that she's already trained her mind to think in past-tense.

"Here, it's in the news," her mother offers, her eyes apathetically glued to her laptop as she slides the Berkian Press across the table.

Most places wouldn't have the epic rush of a teenage suicide on the front paper the very next day, but Berk is a small town, and the paper is really useless anyhow. Astrid is sure her mother had learned of Hiccup's death long before the paper even came out. He is- was- the mayor's son, after all. She sets her fork down on the table and scoops up the paper, eyes skimming the large, bold title and trying not to appear as interested as she really is:

 **Mayor's Son Commits Suicide**

 _Mayor Haddock's son's body was found in the woods around Raven's Point. Local cops have concluded suicide. The boy had a clean shot through his head with a stolen Glock in his hands. Investigators assure the public he did not suffer a slow death. Mayor Haddock is in questioning as to reasons why his son would take his life but foul play is not suspected…_

It's sad, really. Even after dying, Hiccup is still no more than the mayor's son. Astrid isn't even sure 'Hiccup' was his real name. Perhaps an ironic twist of fate by his parents, or a cruel nickname that had the unfortunate luck to stick? Astrid lays the paper down and forcefully shoves it away from herself. She eyes the remainder of her dinner with a wary glance before nudging it away, as well. She suddenly has no appetite.

"He was always a trouble-maker, that one," her mother notes. "Nothing like Stoick and Valka."

Astrid's mother is right about the fact that trouble seemed to have followed him everywhere, although, she would have argued that it was not his fault, merely unfortunate timing over and over again that he didn't deserve to be handed the blame for, however, there is no malice in her voice. She's simply stating facts without any emotional ties, just like a Hofferson should. Like Astrid should. And she really should just let it go, be sad, and move on. She hadn't known him, it is not her place to mourn so strongly for a person she will never see again. She shouldn't care, period.

But she does. By the gods, does she care. And that's what makes all the difference.

"I'm going for a walk," she announces, pushing her chair back. Because Astrid is always a castle wall made of stone and her parents don't quite understand the concept of 'grounded,' her mother doesn't question her motives for leaving. What reason should she have to think that her daughter is upset about the suicide of a boy she hadn't even known? Any decent human being would be sad at the notion, but they wouldn't take it to a personal level.

It's ridiculous, really. It's just the shock that's getting to her, that's all it is. It's just the cold that's making her eyes water slightly more than usual. It's just a flu coming on in the wintry season of autumn that's forming a lump in her throat. Astrid has never been big on crying (not that she's crying now, mind you), so she's always found that metaphor a bit strange, but in this moment, she understands it completely. It really feels like a knot is tightening on her windpipe, cutting off her air and it _hurts_. It's physically painful and that only makes her angry because she should not be this upset over this. She's nowhere near crying, of course- Astrid's tears are reserved only for the moments that are conceived as worthy of such a forlorn emotion- but it still chokes her up. A boy her age is dead. Gone. Killed by his own hand. His suicide should bring about an instinctive feeling of animosity towards him, like any form of giving up does, and yet all she feels is… hollow. Life does not favor the weak, nor does anything else. Hiccup had just never seemed like a quitter, in her eyes.

All those times she had watched him. She remembers in grade school when she used to contemplate talking to him. Those compassionate impulses slowly dulled to a silly idea that popped up in her head every now and then. She never acted on any of them. Astrid isn't a very impulsive person to begin with and Hiccup had always been just fine on his own. Or maybe he hadn't, and that's what prompted him to take his own life.

Suicide has always had the appearance of weakness, and Astrid has absolutely no tolerance for the weak. She is strong, therefore anyone she associates willingly with must also live up to her standards. Quite a few don't but they aren't people who would ever give up. Astrid is almost… ashamed to have been so watchful of a boy who only beguiled her into believing he was a strong, albeit peculiar, individual who observed life from the shadows, and then she's ashamed for feeling ashamed and disgracing her deceased peer like this, and then she's frustrated that she's feeling anything at all. It's a constant cycle that she keeps struggling with because she's just repeating the same emotions over and over again and it's really getting tedious and quite monotonous because it's making her think in run-on sentences and Astrid _hates_ committing crimes against the laws of grammar and sentence structure.

She thinks back to anything, anything at all that could have pushed him to have done such a thing. Berk is a small town, it's not every day they have a death from someone so young. He hadn't had very many friends, or, actually, any at all that she can recall, but… There isn't anything _there_ enough to act as a justifiable reason. Being ignored hadn't been anything new- the whole town practically looked down upon him. Perhaps it finally took its toll on the boy.

Whatever the reason, Astrid is struck with a recollection of the footprint she had seen yesterday while walking home. She wonders for a brief moment if it had belonged to Hiccup- the woods surrounding Raven's Point are a passing point on her walk. She had had suspicions, and yet, she had completely disregarded it as anything important… But, well, who is she kidding? She wouldn't have been able to do anything. It's a long shot that it even belonged to him in the first place and she isn't one to cling to the past and begrudge over what she could or couldn't have done. Does she regret never speaking a word to him or even acknowledging him more than she absolutely had to? Yes, but she'd never tell a soul. She can't change the past. The boy made his choice. A poor one, in her quickly formed opinion, but a choice nonetheless. The least Astrid can do is to respect other's logic, even if said logic makes no sense whatsoever.

Berkians, no matter their polytheistic views, are not notably of the religious crowd, so the local church is really more of a gathering place for the town. A location used for special events, which, Astrid supposes, this is an event special in and of itself. The people of Berk really need something better to do. Hiccup had only died not two days ago and his memorial is prepared and held the very next day after making the headlines. She's standing in a cordial black blouse, skirt, and leggings her mother had stuffed her into that morning along with a long black trench coat hugging her slim frame. She's cursing herself for forgetting her parents' event and therefore sacrificing her warm boots for a few extra seconds of time, forcing her to wear her tennis shoes in below freezing temperatures. Hiccup Haddock's memorial has most of the town in attendance, which she finds weird since the majority of Berkians had shunned him for the better half of his life.

The depressing part about it all is that Astrid has been here for forty-five minutes already and she hasn't so much as heard a mention of the hulking figure that is their mayor. She knows he's busy, what with running the town and all, but she likes to think that he would at least have the decency to make time for his own son's memorial. The funeral is going to be a private event, and Astrid finds herself dreading the moment she'll go for a morning jog around town and see a new gravestone amongst the green lawn of the local cemetery.

Standing stiffly alongside the outer edge of the crowd, she can't help but overhear a bit of what a group of nameless bystanders around her age are discussing in hushed whispers.

"I can't believe he's really… You know."

"I heard it's because… being abused."

"I thought it was…of being bullied and neglected."

"Mayor Stoick? No, the police don't even suspect him now…I know he can be scary sometimes but he wouldn't…his own son…"

"I feel so bad. If only we could have done something."

"I know. If I had known things were going this badly for him I would have at least gone and talked to the poor boy…"

Astrid is suddenly struck with a sudden urge to crush the styrofoam cup grasped in her hand, but that would send heated cider running down her hands and then she would just be a sticky mess. She settles with silently fuming and walking back out into the cold. Once away from everyone else, she lets out a breath and watches the weather turn it to fog, eventually dispersing. She had foolishly believed she had gotten over feeling anything more than the standard sympathy for the loss of her classmate, but the boiling rage stirring inside of her, fueled by the words of a band of faceless gossipers, begs to differ.

All the same, she wanders back inside after a few minutes, sitting through the entire event. There are several people who talk, but mostly they all sit in silence while the taciturn "elder" of the town runs her fingers along the old grand piano and stare at a blown up photo of Hiccup. It isn't anything recent and Astrid frowns at it for a solid five seconds before remembering her place and bowing her head respectively with her lips pressed together.

More or less, the speakers keep repeating the same thing over and over again, and Astrid's patience quickly begins to wane. It's the duplicate speech of what they would have done had they known what he had been planning. Would it not have been enough to know that he was lonely? The fact about it is that she's being unfair; after all, _she_ didn't do anything to try and help him. The only difference is that she's not looking back and thinking about all the things she could or would have done. But, in the end, she can't go back and change things. Would she like to? Yes, of course, who wouldn't? However, she isn't so sure she would be able to differentiate anything. Breaking from a routine, a habit, is near impossible for her, and Hiccup is- was- everything she's sworn not to associate with. It's easy for anyone to say what they would have done because there is no chance for them to actually keep their word and revise the course of action they had originally taken.

After thirty minutes of speeches, the crowd disperses, clearing the church in slow trickles of twos and threes. Astrid spies a figure shrouded by darkness hovering on the edge of the room and allows herself to stare for just a moment or two. He's of the burlish type, larger than the average person with his thick build- though of course he's nothing in comparison to Stoick. She's not sure what aspect is shinier: his golden blonde, braided mustache, or his entirely bald head. Although, however batty and comical his typical composure may be, he's the only one who, in Astrid's opinion, appears truly and utterly distraught. Quickly, so no questions can be aroused, she tears her gaze away and exits the church with her mother.

Hiccup occupies the majority of her thoughts on the drive home. Only this time, her mood is sour. She is quickly beginning to resent the boy who had died. Which sounds terrible, she's aware, but she's already been through the… well, it isn't exactly guilt… or maybe it is… See, this is why she is looking upon him with disdain. He had made her confused even when he had been alive. By no means is she happy he's dead- gods above, no that isn't it- she just hates that this is something she can't stop thinking about. She wants to forget. She wants this to be a dream. Of course, it isn't because that isn't plausible and Astrid is anything but delusional, but all the same, Hiccup's been gone for three days, and it's seven hours after the memorial's finished and she still can't help but _care_.

She has simply written it off as stupefaction. That's all it is. Astrid Hofferson doesn't get so shaken up by other people's business, especially their weaknesses. For that's surely what it had been, right? A momentary weakness that ended in that stupid boy's death? Whatever the reason or motive, it's not Astrid's duty to worry about some kid with issues. She hadn't known him, she grieves and moves on, that's it. She barely grieves for things in the first place, seriously, even when her own father's-

Astrid goes shooting up off the couch and walks out the door, calling to her mom to inform her that she's leaving for a bit. After pausing a few moments to hear a response- expecting and receiving none- Astrid pulls her mother's winter coat off the rack and tugs it on, bursting out the door and into the cold. The stinging, hiemal temperature clears her mind from its previous train of thought and she can breathe evenly once more. She immediately panics when her car isn't in the driveway before remembering that it's still sitting dead in the school parking lot. She sighs before walking away with a vigourous gait.

She ignores the temperature and tucks her chin into her jacket, breathing through her mouth so she can soak up the warmth of her exhalation. Her brow is creased together, deep in thought. What thoughts, you may wonder? Well, for the majority, she's trying not to think about them, either. She hates that this is the thing to unlock the chest chalk full of all the raw emotions she has kept hidden in the back of her mind for the preponderance of her life. It's especially overflowing from the past year and a half, but she immediately chases that strand of thought from her mind and bolts the doors behind her. That, more than anything, is dangerously close to bringing her to the verge of a state of liquid weakness and she simply cannot have that.

Instead, she convinces herself that her nose has only begun to run due to the cold and her eyes are only burning because… Well, because.

Somehow, she finds herself walking along the road to school. There must be a subconscious part of her that will always lead to her academics. She almost snorts to herself, because had she not participated in so many sports and been well-known around school, she could very well be considered as someone like… But she's not, and that's what's important. She isn't nerdy (like him), but she is solely focused on a future, and if good grades will help her ensure a good one then so be it. Her dedication doesn't qualify her as a nerd by any means, but by definition, it almost should. However, it doesn't, and really, that's the only thing that matters.

She remembers this: the quick walk home. She remembers passing by this exact same spot and seeing this exact same footprint. The thought that it's Hiccup's crosses her mind once more, but she writes it off as a trick of the mind. For some off-putting reason, she's compelled to follow the route, if only to see where it ends. It's dark, but she has no problem making out the dark figure curled up on the side of the path, and she veers around the little creature so she won't step on it. Because of Berk's weather, three days later the dead cat's body hasn't quite begun to rot, and it probably won't decompose for a while. It's mostly autumn, and the vaguely warm seasons won't be around for at least another six months, so the little cat is almost preserved. If she was inconsiderate (or daring) enough she might poke it with her foot, just to tell how solid it is, but she's not and besides, she doesn't really care.

When she can't feel her fingers and her feet are starting to hurt from walking with no feeling, she finally reaches a clearing in the woods. In all actuality, it's not that far from the road, it's just really cold. Astrid isn't normally so affected by the weather, and it's mildly frustrating that her body is reacting so violently. Either way, she can't help but wonder if this is where Hiccup shot himself. (She's not sensitive towards the subject and doesn't care to pretend that she is.) The trees above are sparkling with frost, the grass is slightly frozen but it isn't too hard a surface to lie down on, and there's a clear view of the stars in all their shining glory if she looks straight up at Valhalla, a rare sight in Berk as more often than not a thick curtain of clouds are covering the dark canvas of the night sky. Astrid finds herself lying down in the clearing, slowing her breathing so she will stop shaking, and pondering her thoughts as her eyes start to feel like there has been a certain weight added to them. She doesn't think about how it's surely cold enough for her to freeze, but somewhere in her mind, she sincerely hopes it isn't. It would be a shame for all her hard work to go to waste at the ripe age of eighteen.

It's nice, she thinks. Incredibly peaceful. Astrid isn't exactly one for relaxation, but even she is not immune to its calming sense that washes over the body every now and then. She may like the hustle and bustle of her daily life but occasionally she longs for the chance to unwind and to not worry about anything. Of course, those moments are few and far in between and they generally don't last very long, but they still occur. She blinks, placing her hands behind her head. It's a pretty view, she can't help but notice. She's not one to appreciate the scenery, but there's something about the night sky that captivates even the most hidebound of people. It's so tranquil and quiet, no noise from passing cars or an intermittent cough from the next room over- just silence. It isn't so bad, she decides. Quiet is a novelty to Astrid, but she normally doesn't care all that much. She remembers that darn black cat, laying conserved on the path, cold and dead, and she thinks of Hiccup, just as cold and dead, only probably being held in a funeral home. (She finds it incredibly unnerving to acknowledge the obvious- that he's probably sitting in a freezer, somewhere.) For a brief moment, she wonders what it's like to be dead. Is there really Valhalla and Helheim and things like that? Surely, Astrid would go off to Valhalla- she's only ever been good, right? She doesn't know. However, laying there in the crisp night air, with darkness and quiet her sole companions, she figures that, if this truly was the site of Hiccup's suicide, it wouldn't be such a bad place to die.

The stars overhead seem to shine extra bright, as if they, too, are mourning Hiccup Haddock's death.

* * *

 **As great as that may be, this is not the end. I'm not quite that cruel to end their story here, so be assured there are at least another five parts in the process, if not more. Sorry it took so long, but I was going through edits for this part and I'm procrastinating studying for an AP exam so please just tell me to shut up and let me know what you think. Hopefully this was some more entertaining development, but the next part reveals a bit more of how the actual story's going to go, however, I can offer no promises on speedy updates. All the same, hope to see you next time! I'm super excited for this story.**


	3. Alive feat, Bewilderment

_People are always going to be ignorant as to how much time they really have until it all slips away, and I've never fully realized it until now. Time is so precious, and perhaps that is why there is so little of it. The greatest things have the shortest, most tragic lifetimes. Unfortunately, people are no different. We never realize what we have until it's gone. We just have to learn to make the most of what we have while it's still within our grasp. It's a rather cruel lesson in the face of life and death, if you really think about it._

* * *

Birds are the first thing she wakes to. Well, that and the realization that she can't feel her feet- lovely. But birds are not familiar to Astrid. Maybe muffled from outside her window, but never this loud, and she's positive her alarm is a simple ringing, nothing extravagant or outlandish like the chirping of birds. For some reason, it's still practically dark, and it's so awfully cold, she just wants another half hour of sleep, that's it, really. She reaches for her covers, but her hands draw short. There's nothing there. She's a light sleeper and she doesn't move around, so the covers wouldn't have been kicked off during the night… And, come to think of it, when has her bed ever been this hard?

Astrid opens her eyes and is immediately startled to see an open sky. Jerking to a sitting position and immediately regretting it when her muscles- sore from sleeping on such a solid surface- cry out in protest, she groans, stretching her arms high above her head and pushing off her knees to stand. The morning light is just beginning to peek over the horizon, and Astrid curses. She had fallen asleep in the clearing and if she doesn't hurry home she'll be late for school. Ah, school… Momentarily, she wonders what school will be like without the boy sitting on the steps, bent over a journal and doodling some incomprehensible scribbles to greet her eyes when she first walks into the main building. However, she's had the weekend to grieve and she can't be late.

She prays she doesn't trip over anything and begins to jog home, putting on an extra burst of speed when she remembers that her car is still sitting in the school parking lot, most likely still dead as a doorknob. Astrid can only hope it's of the hour that her mother is still asleep so she won't know that Astrid had been out all night. In her defense, she hadn't been doing anything, merely sleeping. Of course, though, her mother is awake and drinking coffee at the kitchen table, eyeing Astrid when she cautiously walks in.

"Where have you been?" she asks calmly.

"I swear, I fell asleep in the woods, that's all," Astrid is quick to defend. Her mother takes another sip of coffee. Glancing at the oven clock, she sees that it's five fifteen am, give or take, long before she's typically awake. Her mother normally leaves the house at five thirty exactly. Indeed, her blonde hair is pulled back in one of those elegant buns that Astrid never bothered to learn how to do, and her black and pinstripe blue suit is neatly tailored to perfection. Her ice blue eyes are different from Astrid's, though. They're a crystal clear gray and have always appeared as if they could slice right through someone if she so desired. So different from her own deep, bright blue ones. She had gotten her blonde hair and slim build from her mother, but her eyes are all-

Well, then.

Her mother regards her with a distasteful glance. It's shameful and embarrassing for someone of such a pristine reputation to be out all night. However, she doesn't comment any further on it, instead, dismissing her with, "We'll talk more of this tonight after my event."

"Another one?" she can't help but mumble as she climbs up the stairs.

"Sorry?"

"Don't you normally wait to have them once a month? You've already had one," she notes. Her mother gives her a funny look.

"Nice try, Astrid. Please just don't be late. I'd best be off." She rinses off her coffee mug and places it in the perfectly organized dishwasher before grabbing her briefcase and heading out the door. Astrid can hear the vague rumble of a car easing into life and eventually the sound disappears in the distance. Polite, that's all Astrid can think of to describe the exchange. She waves it off though; it had just been a normal conversation.

She feels like she would have remembered if her mother had been planning another evening party so soon, but oh well. Perhaps she can get herself off the hook from last time if she actually does skip practice, though it won't be good for her record. She sighs and heads upstairs. It's a shame she didn't get a good rest last night, she'll surely be up late tonight. It seems to be poor planning on her mother's part, after all it is a school night- and a Monday, at that.

Grudgingly, she throws on a red shirt this time, with a fur lined parka she isn't entirely sure is hers and slips into some jeans, scouring her room for where she had deserted her tennis shoes. However, her warm winter boots are sitting in the corner, just where she always sets them out to wear in the morning. She hadn't gone to the school over the weekend to retrieve them, but her mother must have… Or, someone. Maybe a student from school had noticed them and dropped them off at her house; it isn't exactly private knowledge as to where most people live in Berk. Putting those on, she places her tennis shoes in her backpack after wiping off the moisture and the dead leaves. Running to the bathroom, she quickly brushes her teeth and hair, re-braiding her blonde tresses and adjusting her headband. She grabs her backpack- this time remembering to tuck her phone inside- and races out the front door. She is actually before schedule, but she likes having time to spare, especially since her car is currently unavailable.

Her boots are snug on her feet, and they make her frown because she feels like she would have remembered someone dropping by, or, at the very least, her mother mentioning that she was going to pick up her shoes. She doesn't peg her mother as one to care about whether or not she is able to drive to school, so she dashes ahead and begins to take yet another jog that morning, this time to school. She's thinking too much about how late she's going to be now since she had forgotten her predicament with her car, and she doesn't notice something darting out between her feet. In fact, the little blur that she barely manages to catch in the corner of her eye makes her legs go flying out beneath her and she's suddenly face-planting on the sidewalk.

"Son of a-" she grumbles and lifts her eyes to glare at whatever had caused her to fall gracelessly on her face. Luckily, no one is around to witness Astrid Hofferson glaring at a cat.

Or, well, she would be glaring, but she isn't. Why? Because it's a _black_ cat.

 _Another one?_ she thinks as she picks herself up, adjusting her backpack strap as the cat calmly sits and preens, licking its forepaw in perfect ignorance to the embarrassment it had just caused the blonde haired teen on the opposite side of the street. That stupid cat. She just about walks away when the cat beats her to it, however, it doesn't slink guardedly or pad elegantly away, instead, it hobbles. Astrid can't help but stare at the space where the left hind leg should be. If she really though about it, the feline resembles the previous black one she had ran over not three days ago a whole awful lot, but she hadn't even looked that closely the first time, and besides, even if this is the same exact spot, she's fairly certain the other black cat didn't have three legs... But that's besides the point, coincidences can happen, no matter how rare the occasion. This cat seems accustomed to life without the appendage, and she pauses to think whether it had been born that way or if it had been lost somehow. She wonders how it lost it, if that were the case, and if it had been painful. Then, she wonders why she cares. Maybe for the same reason she cares that Hiccup is now dead- because nobody else does.

That's not true, she's sure _somebody_ cares, but the public seems to write it off as some tragedy of youth and not an actual loss. Perhaps that is what really bothers her. She frowns for the remainder of her run.

When she gets to school her eyes automatically sweep the parking lot to find her car, but she doesn't see the familiar blue. Which is strange, she can't ever remember her mom saying something about having anyone going to pick up her car. Something about school doesn't feel right. Well, she means, it feels just like any other day, and that alone is wrong because shouldn't the very atmosphere be _different_ because, for Odin's sake, somebody's just _died_? Everything is as it should be, and that bothers Astrid, far more than it should. There are the same students filing into the main building, the same cars that are parked in the overcrowded parking lot, the same boy crouched over his notebook sitting in front of the school, the same flag flapping in the-

Wait, _what_?

Astrid's eyes snap back to the boy on the steps. It isn't possible…! She slowly moves on at a much slower pace than her typical brisk walk. Bug-eyed, she ogles the kid. Nothing is different, there isn't anything out of the ordinary, and nobody acts like there is anything amiss. They just keep walking by without acknowledging him like he's supposed to be there, like everything is normal, and they could have easily fooled Astrid. But… but that boy should be _dead_.

Sure enough, it's Hiccup Haddock leaning down, his overgrown bangs falling in his eyes. He used to care enough to brush them out, but apparently he doesn't anymore. She frowns when she realizes that she remembers that, and then she frowns more because, well, she shouldn't be worrying about what he _used_ to do, she should be worried that he's here in the first place.

"H-Hiccup?" Astrid stutters. She _never_ stutters.

He darts his green gaze upwards for a moment, curious as though he could have sworn he'd heard his name. His mouth is curved downward, and his scowl- well, it isn't exactly a scowl, not nearly one hostile enough like Astrid pulls off so nicely- only deepens when he notices Astrid staring shell-shocked at him. Okay, so it really isn't a scowl at all. He looks terribly confused, as if there's a practical joke just waiting to spring out on him because why on _earth_ would _Astrid Hofferson_ be talking to _him_? She'd ask herself that very same question, but, well, like she's already so blatantly pointed out, _he should be dead_.

"Um, hi, Astrid-" he coughs, his voice a little scratched, like a record that hasn't been played in a long time, "hi, Astrid- um, hi... Astrid."

If she hadn't been so dumbstruck, she might have scoffed at the sad and awkward approach to a conversation Hiccup had taken, but, she can't help it. Her mind's a tad bit preoccupied at the moment to find anything remotely funny. Why is he here? She must be going crazy.

"But…" she fades off, just staring at him. He squirms under her scrutinous stare, darting his eyes as if searching for an escape but finding none. In actuality, it isn't an escape he's looking for. Astrid clears her throat. If she's going crazy, she might as well do it with a civil head. "Sorry," what she's apologizing for, she isn't quite sure, "what are you doing here?"

The boy cocks his head to the side, and she gets a momentary glimpse of what he's drawing. It appears to be some sort of lizard, maybe a dragon. That in and of itself is beyond nerdy, but what little she can see of it is good. Really good. "Uh, I-I go here? For- you know, school?" he says it like it's a question he's asking her instead of answering one of her own.

"I mean… never mind. I'm going mad," Astrid mumbles to herself, not caring that she probably looks it as she stumbles while walking in the front doors. She tastes a sharp, metallic tang in her mouth and realizes it's blood. She drops her lower lip from her teeth and knits her eyebrows together in concentration. It must be a ghost, or a hallucination. Yes, that must be it. Or, maybe her subconscious has just been feeling so guilty she's conjured up a perfect replica of Hiccup Haddock. No, that can't be it. She barely knows the boy, she wouldn't be able to dream up something as realistic as this, besides, her imagination has never been all that strong. So, that brings her back in a circle to the fact that she's crazy. Or, maybe the whole thinking-up-a-replacement-Hiccup concept would count as certifiably insane.

"Hey Astrid," Snotlout Jorgenson greets her slyly, slinging an arm over her shoulder. She's so perplexed that her mind barely registers when she twists his arm into an unnatural position and leaves him yowling in pain as the world blurs around her. She needs some numbers, a complicated math equation, anything that makes sense because, at the moment, reality isn't. Wait, that's it. Maybe she's dreaming. She had fallen asleep in the clearing, she supposes it makes sense. But… The few dreams Astrid can remember have always been hazy, and they've never felt this real before. Even still, maybe she just needs to wake up, and when she does she probably won't remember it all that much. Hiccup alive- what a strange notion for her subliminal stimulus to come up with.

Astrid pinches the arm on the back of her hand, and it leaves a red mark but after blinking a few times she's assured that she's still very much dreaming. So, pinching won't work. Perhaps something more extreme? For a moment, she allows her senses to overwhelm her and she crashes into the school lockers on the wall to her right. Her shoulder screams in pain and she can't help but think, _gods, this is what it feels like?_ , a wave of sympathy crashing over her, directed squarely at the boy who experienced- experiences?- this practically every day. Only, nobody had pushed her. A few surrounding students go rushing to help her up, but a passing teacher shoos them all away. She's vaguely aware of a large hand on her back as she's ushered to the nurse's office.

"Rough day, huh?" the nurse asks, and Astrid stares at her. The room is fuzzy, but maybe that's just her.

"I suppose you could say that," she remarks, taking a seat on one of the lumpy beds and gratefully accepting the cold washcloth she places over her forehead.

"Well you're not running a fever, but you seem to have a severe headache so why don't you stay in here and rest for fifteen minutes and I can send you back to class then?" she suggests, removing her hand from her forehead. Astrid nods and moves to lay down.

The nurse shuts the lights out as she closes the door, muttering, "It's been a long week for all of us; don't worry, the weekend's just a few hours away."

The door closes before Astrid can react, so the nurse doesn't come racing back in when her eyes snap open and her body jerks to a sitting position, upsetting her head once more and setting loose a flock of pounding birds screeching in her head. She moans and swings her legs over the side once more, placing her head between her knees and gulping in air. There is no way the nurse just said the weekend was only a few hours away, she's got another four days before Saturday, and… and…

And she really is losing it.

Quietly with her eyes wary of the door, she moves to retrieve her phone from her backpack pocket. Slowly, she squints at the screen, reading the date. And promptly drops it, coming dangerously close to hyperventilating once more.

This can't be, it makes no logical sense! It _can't_ be Friday- the same day Hiccup died. It's already happened, he should be dead! This should be over, she should be moving on, not living in the past. Astrid has come to the conclusion that she's not crazy; there's no logical signs. Outlandish and eccentric little blips in time don't happen in real life, it's just not scientifically possible… And yet, here she is.

The nurse releases her after her fifteen minutes and Astrid wordlessly nods her gratitude. She doesn't want to pass out again so she holds her ground, steadying her head so the world will stop spinning. There has to be some explanation, but she can think of none. Because Hiccup and Astrid are both relatively smart human beings, they share a lot of the same classes. Four out of the eight, to be exact (she counts today- something she's never done before, mind you). She barely pays attention because, for one, she's already heard what the teacher's presenting- _she'd listened to it three days ago for Odin's sake!_ \- and secondly, she's too busy gawking at Hiccup, trying desperately to decide why him, why her. She's never done anything to receive negative attention from the gods above, but she's convinced they are against her in every sense of the meaning.

By the end of the day, her head has ceased to cause her anything but perpetual pain. Fortunately, her last class is Hiccup-free so Astrid's mind has one period left to conceive the concept that, somehow, her mind has traveled back to three days ago. For once, academics and practices are not her top priorities, instead, she worries about how the Hel she's going to get back. As the bell rings, signaling the end of the day- oh, the irony- Astrid stumbles out the door, thankfully with no one staring at her as she makes sure to be the last one to leave. Generally, she's the first one to leave, eager to make it to the next part of her daily agenda, but for once in her life, she just wants to take the day slowly.

Being that it is a Friday, as she walks aimlessly through the halls; there's barely anyone left to witness her complete and utter stupor. She's rather quiet when she ponders the strange happenings of life, and maybe it's a good thing- otherwise, she might never have been able to sneak up on Hiccup.

Astrid doesn't exactly recall what Hiccup had been wearing the day he died, but when she comes around the corner, watching him retracting his bag from his locker, she's able to observe for herself. He keeps a stern, apathetic face, his dark hair falling haphazardly across his forehead and into his eyes. A green plaid shirt buttoned all the way to his throat and halfheartedly tucked into dark, loose-fitting jeans is his attire. Astrid blinks. There's something far too simple about his wardrobe that doesn't seem fitting for a death suit. Shouldn't he radiate an air of gloom and dark misery? Shouldn't he be wearing all black with thick sleeves to cover all that he has ever hidden? The thing that bothers Astrid is, he doesn't look like a boy about to commit suicide. He just looks like a boy going home. Then again, who is she to be able to tell?

She furrows her brow, hiding behind the corner. Is this really what Hiccup had been doing the day he died? Are these really the same events? There's no way for her to know, but if they are, that means that she isn't crazy because there's no possible way her mind could conjure his exact whereabouts and actions that day. However, if they're not, that simply means it's all in her head and she needs to find some way to snap out of this illusion. Either option serves her a great big, heaping pile of _problems_ , but she's not sure which one she prefers: the one where she's crazy or the one defying the laws of physics and nature and basically _everything else_.

Hiccup lets out a loud, audible sigh and she jerks her back against the wall. Holding her breath, she waits for him to say something, like, maybe a quiet, "Goodbye," or a somber, "This is it then," but there's only the sound of his mismatched feet hobbling towards the exit.

Hypothetically speaking, this shouldn't even be possible. She shouldn't know what's going to happen next, she shouldn't want to follow him, she shouldn't even be here in the first place. But she knows what comes next. She knows that death will forever haunt this town for the rest of its existence, in every shadow of its entity, beginning the moment that boy points that stolen Glock she's sure is stashed in his bag at himself.

 _If only._ What strange words to leave the human mouth. Perhaps the universe has a plan for everyone living in it. Perhaps it is Hiccup's fate to die, and who is she to tamper with fate? How could she possibly have known that all the things those kids had said would come to pass to Astrid, herself? She never asked for an opportunity to be a hero, she just wants to get out of this town. Astrid's only ever had answers, but now, in this alternate reality within her own subconscious, she only has questions. Is this even real? Should she save Hiccup? Should she alter fate for the sake of someone who wants to die? How can she try and prevent something that's already happened? It seems like a selfish and inhumane decision to make; the choice seems obvious, of course, but for some reason, it isn't.

Whatever she is going to decide, one glance at the clock tells her that soon, it won't matter, because the lonely boy sitting on the steps every morning is going to be gone, perhaps for good. In the end, she supposes it isn't her choice to make. Even dead people deserve justice, and while it had been Hiccup's fate to die, it is now hers to uncover the reason.

Astrid steps out from behind the corner and chases after Hiccup.

Of course, in theory, it's a bit easier to follow a one-legged eighteen-year-old, but in practice, Hiccup's disappeared far sooner than Astrid expects. For an athlete such as herself, he's surprisingly tricky to catch up to, and to be honest, she doesn't even know where he's going, however, she has an inkling, and it isn't too hard to head there herself.

She wonders why this is happening, and if any of this is real. It doesn't make sense, but these are the actual events that had happened (as far she she knows), how could she imagine this? And what does it even mean? So far, she's the only one who's been thrown back into the past, but then, that would mean time travel is possible, but that doesn't make sense scientifically since one can't go back in time without unraveling time from then on out. Maybe… Maybe the future isn't changed, it's only a different future… Because this is a different past. That would make sense, as to why nobody notices anything off, because, as far as they're aware, Hiccup's death isn't going to take place until this afternoon. One action can change the timeline, and she's somehow stumbled upon one that's already happened. Only, she's going to change the outcomes of this future. She thinks.

Perhaps there are a million different possible timelines, and the world swaps between each one based on every person's choices, every chemical imbalance, every obstacle fate decides to hurl in their paths. One second can shift the timelines, and, if Astrid's sudden philosophy is correct, that would mean she's somehow reset the current one. Be that as it may, she has no idea how she did it, nor how to return to her normal one, but for now, she'll just focus on saving that mysterious boy. As for the reason, she isn't quite sure, but she supposes it would be better to give this timeline a chance to tell her why she feels so guilty than to let an innocent person die twice. (She may be cold but she still has a soul, goodness.)

It just doesn't make any logical sense, is all. If these timelines are how she's gotten here, which, as far-fetched as they sound, they seem to be the most reasonable explanation yet, why her? Why didn't anyone else get pulled back with her? The concept hurts Astrid's brain to think about. It's too much like time and the space continuum. How is it possible that there is an infinite amount of space in the universe? Doesn't it have to end somewhere? And how can time be measured when it seemingly doesn't have a beginning, nor an end? When this planet is gone, she assumes that time will still be there. The universe will go on; it does not mourn the death of one star any more than the body mourns the death of one skin cell, and a planet sustaining life is nothing, in the face of things. Astrid suddenly recalls an Arthur Clarke quote, "Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the Universe, or we are not. Both are equally terrifying," simultaneously connecting and insinuating an understanding, and wondering why she cares.

The path by Raven's Point arrives quickly, but there's no sign of Hiccup. Slowly, she leans down to examine the same footprint, a boot freshly imprinted into the mud. Astrid pauses to take note of the size of the mud, and quickly calculates one stride in her mind. She wonders if there is only one because the walker only had one foot…

In some part of her mind, she had always assumed. She had always thought that this was where he had shot himself dead, one clear bullet through his head to end it all. In a way, perhaps it makes sense that this is where he went, that this is the very same scene that she happened to pass by on her way home. A brief thought flashes through her mind: _Gods, what if she had_ found _Hiccup that day?_ She hadn't, fortunately, she thinks that would have been traumatizing more so than she had already suffered, but she doesn't worry about it this time when a deafening gunshot fires into the quiet afternoon, a clap of thunder echoing through the trees, an eerie crack draining any color from her face and all apprehension from her mind.

Astrid freezes.

And then, she runs.

* * *

 **Wow I am horrible at getting things done. Well, the summer's here and hopefully I can pull it together and finish this thing. Wish me luck, thanks for reading!**


	4. Complications feat, Trouble

_Emotions are truly puzzling conceptions of the human mind. Science has proven that people have the broadest emotional range, and I can't even begin to argue against that. Sure, certain animals mate for life, or pity another, or despise something with a passion, or require social interaction, but none can be quite so messed up as us. We can be our greatest hero and our worst nightmare, all at once. We can tear each other apart piece by piece without even meaning to. We claim to go by our hearts, but that's just some metaphorical crap some poet spun together a long time ago. We link love and feelings with the heart, but why? Maybe there's something lyrical that the soul likes to grasp onto, but honestly, there is nothing the heart has control over, except maybe the important stuff, like pumping blood to keep us alive, but even that is controlled by the brain. Think about it- people can get heart replacements. They can fix their broken vessels and shock it back to keeping you alive, but brain damage is a fault that no one has yet solved, nor understood. There is no such thing as a brain transplant because once that is damaged, you're done. I don't know why more people don't link this to emotions and all that, because they are truly devastating creations of mankind. I mean, like the heart, love is replaceable; it's something that can be fixed. But the brain is life itself, and once it stops wanting to live, everything else shuts down, so maybe that is why 'love' and 'hearts' go hand in hand. But, you know, if brain transplants were possible, that would be awfully nice. Unfortunately, the way of the world just doesn't work like that._

* * *

As Astrid goes sprinting down the path, she can't help but feel a certain emotion flare up within herself, something similar to the white hot anger she often finds herself stricken with, but different at the same time. Anger, frustration, annoyance, they all give her the same irritating itch that she never can quell (she generally takes it out on Snotlout, her personal punching bag, though), but somehow, it isn't exactly the same. Some sort of foreign emotion that she's never had to identify before- it's strange and she tucks it away to ponder over later as she has a few things that come to mind that are far more important.

 _Please, dear gods, if you pity me at all for what you've done to me, please just don't let me find him… You know…_

She slows her pace, not wanting to run up on- well, to be frank- a dead body. Slowly, she creeps forward, careful not to make a sound, though she doesn't quite know yet why. All she knows is that she doesn't want to find him crumpled on the ground, limbs tangled and blood spilling in pools around his head, or wherever he decided to shoot himself. The thought oddly horrifies Astrid, though she isn't a squeamish person. No, she's not worried for Hiccup, she still doesn't even know the boy, but she does not want to be dragged back in time for nothing. After all he has inadvertently put her through, if Hiccup actually shot himself, she swears she will find a way to shift back another timeline where he is alive and well just so she can strangle him with her own bare-

"Pathetic."

Astrid is pretty sure her heart stops with that one dry comment. Or, at least, any noise she makes does. After hearing that one remark, the clenched fist on her anger ceases and she slowly inches forward, able to let out a breath she hadn't even been aware she was holding. Her mind isn't consumed by unfounded rage anymore, all she has is a flood of relief.

 _He's not dead._

"Okay, look here, I really kinda need that. I'm not afraid of you so- stop looking at me like that!"

She pauses once more. Who is he talking to? Not her, certainly, she likes to think she's a bit more obscure than that.

"I'm going to do it," he announces, and Astrid's breath catches for a moment before any doubt is replaced by amusement at the boy's obviously fake bravado and horrible awkwardness. "I'm gonna do it, and you can't stop me. So I'd kindly appreciate it if you'd just… Maybe shift like, two inches to the left… Your _other_ left you useless- _gah_!"

(Astrid is too deep within her own thoughts to register something inhumane that sounds remotely close to a rattlesnake. Of course, Berk doesn't have rattlesnakes- or any other kind of snake, really- but because her mind chooses to discard this observation, she doesn't dwell on it.)

Does this mean there was actually someone there when Hiccup died? That someone knew he was going to _kill himself_? And… They didn't stop him? Rage once again flares up within her, but she allows the temperature to cool her hypocrisy.

"Don't look at me like that, I _am_ going to do it, I _can_ do it, I-I…" Astrid detects a sigh of defeat, and it causes her to inch forward just the slightest bit, if only for a marginally better view. She, after all, is mightily interested in the answer, though she still cannot fathom why. However, she is far past the point of debating with herself over the matter.

Astrid doesn't hear from him for a short while, and she would panic, but she would be able to hear if something bad was happening. In this instant, it's merely quiet. Quiet is safe, and she supposes no news is good news. All the same, she cranes her neck out into the cold to catch a glimpse of him through the branches. Fearful of making a sound and startling the boy, she inches forward at a snail's pace.

What she sees isn't exactly the strangest thing any human has ever beheld, but it makes her heart quicken all the same. Hiccup Haddock sits crouched on the ground, one arm folded across his knees and one reached out, as if tentatively touching something. She can't see what it is as there are too many leaves in the way and she's nowhere near close enough to tell. Despite her distance, she can see that his eyes are small- rimmed with red- and he no longer looks like an ordinary, albeit reticent, student going about their day. He looks like someone who has a reason to want to die.

It startles her, this shift in his entire being. Just ten minutes ago, he had been apathetically removing his belongings from his locker, seemingly not caring about anything other than what everyday teenagers worry about. He was just… a typical boy. Nothing broken or shattered about him, nothing that screamed he was going through something that would coax him to kill himself. And that had only been minutes ago, how is it possible that one person could change so drastically in such a short period of time? Astrid doesn't understand it, how Hiccup had been able to put on such a facade to fool the entire town of Berk, but she frowns when she realizes that it must be easy to hide something when nobody's looking in the first place.

She hears a sniff, and her gaze darts back to Hiccup's face. She squints her eyes to see that he's fallen to his knees now, his head bent over his lap and his hands tangled in his hair, his knuckles a shade of white that she can see from where she stands. There are massive spasms that rock his body back and forth in a tenuous, erratic pattern, and it's only when she fully heeds his gasps of breath that she realizes, _oh, he's crying_ … Although, that doesn't seem to be the appropriate word for it. 'Crying' is too softhearted, too benign and tepid of a term for proper description. This is Hiccup, crippled and mutilated by something far greater than the loss of his leg, something Astrid will never understand. This is Hiccup breaking apart… No, this is Hiccup _already broken._

It feels just the slightest bit anomalous to see, and once she establishes that the gun isn't anywhere near him, Astrid tears her eyes away. She hugs her arms to her chest, her shoulders drawn up defensively. She can't help but furrow her brow and bite her lip as she tries not to hear his sobs of agony as they pour out of him with reckless abandon- unadulterated and absolute and just _wrong, wrong, wrong_.

Though, as uncomfortable as she convinces herself she is, at the same time, she can't help but feel affected by this. She isn't quite sure how yet, all she knows is that she can feel something different inside. She has no idea how to identify or pinpoint exactly what, but witnessing this raw and calamitous release has indefinitely changed her.

Astrid remembers her place and glances back at Hiccup, eyes scanning the surrounding area for the gun as he picks the pieces of himself up off the ground, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. She doesn't see it anywhere, but there is something Hiccup's suddenly paying attention to on the opposite side of his lap. Her heart hammers once more, but when she notices him making stroking motions, she deduces the idea of the gun. She watches as, miraculously, his mouth twitches into the faintest traces of a smile, before he turns and picks whatever is on the ground beside him up as he stands. Hiccup pauses a moment, taking a few deep breaths and staring down at whatever is in his arms before walking away in the opposite direction. She doesn't recall there being another path but it's obvious Hiccup's been here before, so she assumes he must know his way around Raven's Point.

Once she can no longer hear the offbeat rhythm of his gait, she steps out from behind the branches into the clearing. Slowly, she looks up at the sky, for no reason in particular that she can call forth in her mind. The blue atmosphere is hidden behind a veil of clouds, all different shades of storming gray. It's a typical Berkian weather forecast, and she blinks in meager bewilderment as she grasps just how conventional this day will be to everyone else in this town- in this timeline. This won't be the day Hiccup Haddock committed suicide, nor even the day Hiccup Haddock _almost_ committed suicide. To everyone else, this will only ever be just another Friday. But not to Astrid. Because she knows what happened- what almost happened. And by the gods of Asgard, she can't- won't- forget it.

Looking back at where Hiccup sat, she spies the dull glow of a handgun abandoned in the grass. Without someone aiming it at their forehead, it looks powerless. She isn't well acquainted with guns, but she knows enough to identify it as a Glock, the same weapon Hiccup used to kill himself in her timeline. Though it is now rendered harmless by the change of a one-legged boy's heart, she grasps it with caution, a firm grip as if somehow, it could instantly morph into the deadly killing machine she knows it to be in her world if she does not restrain it. The metal is smooth and cool to the touch, with an almost elegant or regal feel to the weapon. She doesn't like it. A device so outwardly harmless and innocent, beautiful even, that has been the death of so many people- including the boy who just wandered off not moments ago in another place, another lifetime- resting in her hands. Astrid has never been one to shy away from power, but there is a difference between power and danger, and that is one line she refuses to cross.

Astrid is suddenly filled with hatred and revulsion for the thing. She checks to make sure all the internal safety locks are in place before warily lodging the gun in her backpack, no longer able to stand the sight of it. She takes a deep breath and heads into the woods after Hiccup. She figures if she's in this deep now she might as well sink to the bottom of this mystery.

Seeing as she doesn't know the way to Hiccup's house from the clearing, she just prays he has the sense to refrain from another attempt on his life before she can get to him. The mayor's house is an easy landmark to remember in the town of Berk and it takes her about fifteen minutes to walk to. The cold does nothing to clear her mind, and by the time she's standing on his front steps, it's far too late now that she realizes she has no idea what she's going to say to him. What is she supposed to tell him, anyways? ' _Hi, yeah, I know we've literally spoken to each other like two times, but I saw you about to commit suicide- and, funny story, I knew you were going to because you're already dead where I'm from- here's your gun, by the way. Oh, also, just a stray thought, why_ did _you kill yourself?'_ Yeah, that would blow over well.

"This is absolutely ridiculous," Astrid mutters beneath her breath. Why, after all, does it even matter if she doesn't have anything to say? She's Astrid freaking Hofferson and she doesn't need a reason to be here. Raising her first, she knocks politely, a hollow and meek sounding echo against the wooden door. After waiting a few moments, nobody answers, however, judging from the clatter and muffled string of curses she hears within the time frame, she can tell that Hiccup's home. Well, not only is he ruining her day, but he has the nerve to be rude as well? Before she can lose her courage, she rings the weathered doorbell, listening as a grand chorus of heavy bells ring through the interior of the house. This time, the noises stop altogether and she hears a faint, "Wait here," along with deviating footsteps.

She thinks he trips before he opens the door, but it could just be her interpreting the crashes and swears wrong. The heavy door is jerked open, and Hiccup's face, slightly red, appears. Astrid is almost shocked by the normalcy of it; he doesn't look like he's been recently distraught, nor even the slightest bit ruffled.

"Oh, um, hi," he blinks, evidently shocked at the sight before him.

(It is then that Astrid remembers her social capabilities amount to the size of a potato. Approximately.)

"Hey," she shuffles her feet, her hands clasped in front of her and her bangs waywardly hanging over one eye.

"Um, what are you- sorry, h-how do you know where I live?" Hiccup is still partially sticking out from behind the door, his intricate prosthetic resting in view with his normal leg hidden. His face is slightly red, and if she were to admit she was looking, there's a few tears on the right shoulder of his shirt that had definitely not been there when he'd been emptying his locker.

Astrid decides to focus on the meager conversation at hand. She gives him a look, offering a simple and dry explanation: "This is Berk."

"Right…" he mumbles, trailing off in a discomforted manner.

There's a moment of silence between the two of them that involves Hiccup tracing patterns on the door with his finger while sweeping the ground at their feet and Astrid desperately ignoring the ineptness of the entire situation. Suddenly, she remembers why she's there in the first place and swings her backpack to her front, unzipping the large pocket. She can feel his eyes trained to her movements as she slowly removes the object obscured within her bag.

"Um, you forgot this," she holds the Glock in her outstretched hand, and Hiccup's eyes go wide as he stares at the thing. Astrid gracelessly stands in the cold air as his mouth flaps open and closed like a fish out of water, which, living where they do, she does happen to know what one looks like.

Hiccup suddenly lunges for the gun, but he's a mere fishbone of a boy while Astrid is a Varsity athlete, and even though puberty had graced him a few inches on her, she's still able to swipe it out of his reach. That, and well, he trips over his own feet- foot?- in the process of darting out from behind the door.

"G-give me… that," he seems in a state too flabbergasted to fully process anything, and he attempts to scramble together an eloquent response while subtly trying to step around her, and failing horribly at both.

"Did you steal it?" she asks instead, ignoring him altogether, though she figures he must be used to that by now.

"T-There's a p-perfectly reasonable e-explanation for…" he mumbles the rest, making over exaggerated hand gestures and jerking his hand up to ruffle the back of his hair, a form of coping in awkward situations, she notes, that she hasn't seen from him in years.

"It was a yes or no question, Hiccup," she states, narrowing her eyes. The way he cowers makes her realize that it came across far more menacing than she intended and she hastily rearranges her countenance to one of a less hostile manner. It would be quite counterproductive if she were to scare the suicidal boy to death before she even manages to get an answer to her question, to both the one she had spoken aloud and the one she's been asking in her mind.

"Okay, yes," he admits, "technically speaking, I _did_ steal it, but I swear, I just…" he huffs, the breath causing a few locks to fly up in the air before settling back on his forehead, "Just… give it back," he finishes weakly.

"Not until you tell me why you had it," she states firmly.

His eyes go wide once more, and he chokes out a stream of stutterings before coherent words begin to flow through the obviously defective filter of his mind. "You- no, um, to… not be here anymore?"

It's Astrid's turn to roll her eyes. "I already know _why_ you had it- I'm not an idiot- I want to know why you thought you needed it."

Hiccup blinks, stunned at her choice of words. "Uhh…" he gapes once more, and it's Astrid's turn to roll her eyes.

"Oh, for Thor's hammer," she mutters before shoving him aside and welcoming herself to the interior of the house.

"Astrid, wait, you can't just- _oof!_ "

She turns momentarily to see Hiccup scrambling to pick himself up off the floor, and his utter lack of basic coordination would have been amusing in another time, but for now, she can only stare at the sight that greets her eyes when she turns back around.

If anyone else were to stumble upon this exact scene, they might not think anything of it. Astrid sure wouldn't, if it were under any other circumstances. However, this is the set of events that have been given to her- this is the alternate timeline the gods had decided to throw her in and let her figure things out for herself. A cat is sitting on Hiccup's sofa, dragging his claws across the leather seats that will surely leave marks the mayor most likely will not appreciate. In and of itself, the feline is rather small, but it's definitely not a kitten. Its sleek and elegant black fur leaves little hairs all over the couch, his long whiskers twitching in amusement. It's not the strangest thing Astrid has ever seen, not even close, after all, she's already seen a boy come back from the dead, but it is a little irking, because, of course, the cat is black. And then she realizes that it has three legs and she can't help but frown at the irony of it all. Based on every parallel in this universe- timeline, whatever- she can't deny that this is the cat she had ran over several mornings ago.

"You have a cat?" she asks, treading carefully upon her words. The cat darts its gaze to her and she swears its green eyes narrow. Pushing it from her mind, she wonders instead if this is actually Hiccup's cat. Raven's Point may be within reasonable walking distance to his house, as is everything in Berk, but it certainly isn't close by any means, and she doubts that cats would wander on their own all that way from home. Though it doesn't seem plausible, she would absolutely combust in an outburst of culpability if, on top of never giving the boy a second thought, she went and killed his cat the day he died.

"No, not really, I kinda just… brought him back with me."

It doesn't sound like they are previous acquaintances and she can't help but let out a miniscule breath of relief. "Brought him back with you? A strange souvenir for the given scenario."

He rolls his eyes, but not before Astrid catches the flash of panic that crosses his facial features before he changes the subject, "Look, please don't break my arm or anything, but, um, why exactly are you here?"

"Hiccup," she starts, "you just tried to kill yourself, and you're asking why I'm here?"

He blows up his cheeks with air before releasing them with a sigh, swinging his arms in front of him before rocking back on his heels, his face slowly coloring red. She can't help but inwardly gawk at his complete and utter awkwardness, and there's really no other way to describe it. She wonders if the subject is touchy, but he looks more embarrassed than anything.

The cat perks its ears up, leaping from the couch and surprising Astrid with the ease it performs at such a menial action for a regular cat.

"You won't… Tell anyone… Right?" he asks meekly as the cat pads forwards with its front feet and hopping with its lone hind. It walks like an accordion, only using one part of its body at a time. It weaves between Hiccup's disparate feet, rubbing its head against his jean-clad legs.

"Depends, are you gonna try it again?" If Hiccup's uncomfortable with the way Astrid refers to his near-death with effortless apathy, he doesn't show it as he bends over at the waist to pick the cat up.

"Look, there are just some… things I've been going through, and I momentarily lost my mind. It's not that big of a deal, I lose my mind all the time, seriously," he shrugs it off while calmly stroking the bundle of fur.

Her mouth curves downwards once again. "Hiccup, this isn't funny."

"I never said it was, but… I'm fine, okay? Really, truly, honest. There's no need to worry, though I do appreciate the effort."

Astrid cringes. For one, there was probably no one who had cared. No one who would see the signs that he was miserable. No one to stop for one godsdamn moment and consider that maybe he didn't want to be invisible. And yes, she thinks of him in past tense, because, well, he's dead. Just, here, he's not. Here, he doesn't grasp just how big of a deal this is because for some reason, the bullet didn't go through his brain this time. He thinks that just because he's still hobbling around that people can just dismiss the fact that an equation of death and him had crossed his mind in the first place. And that's exactly what will happen, she realizes. The people of this town won't ever know what transpired in that clearing near Raven's Point, they won't care that Hiccup Haddock will continue on with his meager existence (or maybe he will eventually die here, too), and they wouldn't miss a beat in their daily lives.

Something tears through Astrid's mind, plunging her into déjà vu as she's once again wracked with an emotion she isn't familiar with, because if she hadn't known what Hiccup had attempted, she would be one of them. That doesn't seem like something to be lightly glossed over. She may have the hide of a rhinoceros but she's not made of stone, for Odin's sake. She stares down at the gun she had forgotten was in her hands.

Hiccup is a puzzle. Right now, she has a handful of bits and pieces- ones telling her that Hiccup should be dead, that he wanted to- still wants to, for all she knows- kill himself, and that people don't just bring guns into secluded clearings in the forest for no good reason. He is a puzzle, and she has a few scattered and jagged edges, but she can't fit any of them together and there are still a thousand more to find.

"What happened to make you want to die, Hiccup?" she asks softly, and from the corner of her eye, she can see him freeze.

"I…" he sputters, but doesn't manage to get any words out.

"What stopped you?" She isn't sure who she's talking to anymore.

"In part, Toothless."

She snaps herself out of her somber haze and tilts her head at him.

"Toothless?"

"Oh, uh, Astrid, Toothless. Toothless, Astrid," he jerks his head in a speedy introduction and the cat hisses. She can't really blame it; after all, she did run it over. A thought seems to cross his mind and his entire frame seemingly shrivels in a defensive posture. "Did you, uh," he coughs, "did you _see-_ "

Astrid makes a split second decision to spare him the comforting knowledge that the image of his completely broken and shattered self will remain a secret. She'll figure it out on her own in due time, anyway.

"I saw you walking away, and I found the Glock," she fibs, and she doesn't understand why she's glad she does when she notices his stiffened shoulders instantly relax upon the news.

"Anyway," he continues in a regular tone, "he gave me quite the fright. Luckily the accidental shot didn't hit him-"

That must be the shot she had heard.

"-but he wouldn't get off the, you know, despite whatever I did-"

That would be the one he had been talking to. She inwardly rolls her eyes at his oafish self because of course he had been talking to a cat.

"-but eventually, I kinda just realized, that maybe, uh, he was a sign."

At this, she cranks her attention up to full volume, sensing that something with a bit more depth is about to make itself known.

He keeps his line of sight firmly fixated on the cat's- Toothless's- head as he rubs his fingers between his ears and the creature purrs in contentment.

"I mean, it seems kind of customary that you'd ask for a sign before… you know… anything drastic-" Astrid can't say that she'd know, she's never met anyone who committed suicide before, but she can understand what he's insinuating- that he'd been asking the universe to give him one last possible reason to stay, "-and then he popped out of nowhere, so, just, a sign…"

It takes a moment for this to settle in Astrid's mind.

"Um, Astrid? Are you okay?"

The realization slowly dawns on her, but the saying doesn't inform the public about how after it slowly creeps up on you, it latches on to every fiber of your being and absolutely refuses to let go. Waiting at the end of the slow approach to comprehension is a horrid burning sensation that steals the memory of how to speak, that shoves her stomach up her throat, that just _keeps going_ and suddenly she can't breathe because all she can think is, _oh gods, oh gods, I- this cat- oh gods,_ he's _the reason Hiccup never- and I_ killed _-_

No. No, she is not okay.

Of course, it is in that moment that the sudden rumbling of something that her mind recognizes as the sound of a car entering the garage breaks through the silence. Still on the verge of hyperventilating, Hiccup, having not observed her state of dismay, immediately begins to panic, himself, though for an entirely different reason that she doesn't quite understand nor care about.

"Oh, no, you- you can't be here, I will _never_ hear the end of this if my dad- quick, this way."

In his fit of rush, apparently, Hiccup no longer cares about his lack of basic social interaction as he grabs Astrid's arm and hastily guides her up the stairs, shoving a none-too-willing Toothless in her arms. He then herds them in a blur that ends in a dark room that Astrid can barely see in before he flicks the light switch on and quickly moves to close the door, a guilty expression on his face. In the midst of her stupor, she can only scoff at the paradox- it seems horribly unfitting for the guilty one to be handed the apologetic expression.

"Just, stay here for a moment, I swear, everything will be fine, just… Make sure he doesn't make any noise," he gestures to the cat, "and I'll be back really quick, just let me think of something." A pause ensues, where he prods Astrid with his eyes to ask if she understands. At the current time, she is incapable of responding to much of anything. "Okay," he answers himself curtly and closes the door.

Astrid stares down at the things in her arms; the gun that Hiccup used to kill himself with in her timeline and the cat that evidently saved his life in this one. A devil to pull him down into hell, and a guardian angel to keep him tethered to this earth. Toothless blinks at her, hisses, and claws his way out of her arms, falling gracelessly to the floor and slinking away beneath the bed. Astrid takes a deep breath, calmly setting the gun down on the floor before falling against the wall to her knees, reaching out with her hand for support. The cat pokes his head out from the darkness he had sought refuge in and _meow_ s once, a meager and pitiful sound.

Her stomach lurches once more and she thinks she's going to throw up, but she can't stop staring at those green eyes. This isn't the kind of " _oh, cool, moving on now_ " news she's accustomed to getting, this is a " _this changes abso-freaking-lutely everything_ " type that she doesn't know what to do with.

Because this is the cat that changed everything- he doesn't exist in her timeline because she had killed him. He hadn't been there to give the boy downstairs the sign he had been waiting for, and Hiccup Haddock pulled the trigger because of it.

* * *

 **So, uh... Yay, Astrid and Hiccup finally meet for real! I really hope I have them characterized in a way that honors their original personalities in the movies, so thanks for all the reviews, sorry this took so long (again) but I'm trying to get more focused, we'll see how this goes. Let me know what you think, see you next time!**


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